Wrong way
by beforemidnite
Summary: an assasin OC writes his story....from jail... first fic, The first 3 chapters are prolog.
1. Friday

I know what you did. Well maybe. You were probably board, or maybe a loved one urged you to "find God". What ever the reason, you picked up this bible, you found this story written in it. On the title page, in the margins, in every little space possible. Well, now that you found it, you can read it, my story. A story you wouldn't have herd before, some people paid a lot of money for my face, and my story to stay out of the media. My employers wouldn't risk that. Why, because I am very good at what I do.

This all started four days ago. On a Friday night. I was walking down a street, going to work.

Wait, maybe I should tell you about myself, since you don't know me. My name is (scribbled out) and I kill people. It's what I do. I treat it like I would any other job. I grew up with my grandparents. My parents died when I was little, I don't remember much about them. It was my grandpa that trained me to be what I am. He taught me about weapons, guns mostly. All the parts, how to put them together and take them apart. How to clean them. How to care for them. Different types of ammunition. He taught me how to air. How to breath. How to squeeze not pull. How to take my time.

By the time I was 14, I could outshoot Navy SEALS. By the time I was 15, I could outshoot grandpa. When I was 16, my grandpa had a heart attack. He died. My grandma had died a year earlier in a car crash. I literally had nowhere else to go. The only place was my aunt and uncle's in the big city. If you cant tell already, I don't like them. My aunt would be my mother's sister, and her husband is a lawyer. They have a large apartment, bigger than most peoples houses, 3 floors. I live in the attic, which was my choice, to be as far away from them as possible. They have a son, he is a year older than me. He's a prick. I make a point to do nothing with them. The only real reason I'm ever there is to sleep. I don't eat there food, I don't watch there TV, I don't use there phone. A few blocks from "their" apartment, I have a small apartment rented under the name E. A. Poe. It has all my weapons stashed in it. Some of my clothes, a few suites, and two duffel bags stuffed full of money.

Now you know about me. Back to my story.

I was walking down that street. On my way to the tavern. To get some dinner before going to work. I had my favorite pinstripe suite on. Inside my black leather "briefcase" was a dismantled M14 rifle. I had just started to clear my head and was walking past an ally. I herd sound of a struggle. So I decided it was time for my "good dead of the week". I set my case down, and walked into the ally. There were two men and a girl. One of the men was straddling the girl and had punched her in the head a few times. The other man was desperately trying to grab her flailing legs. I was pretty sure of there intentions. I grab the first one by his hair, pulled him off of the girl, and punched him in the face. I herd the satisfying crunch of a broken nose, and the man lost conciseness. I kicked the other man in the side of the head and he fell to the ground. I walked over to the girl, her eyes were red and swollen up from crying. I sat down next to her, put my arm around her, and she hugged me.

I told her to stop crying.

I told her every thing would be ok.

I told her the bad men were gone.

I stayed with her for a little wile, until she calmed down.

I told her I had to go.

I was in a hurry.

It was then that I realized what she was wearing, just a dark leotard that matched her dark hair.

I thought with her petite figure and that leotard, she must be a gymnast

I gave her my jacket.

I figured she must be cold.

It was a February night.

I asked if she could get home ok.

She nodded yes.

I left.

I told myself she would be fine.

I was back on my quest to find the tavern.

At the pace I was walking, it took me another ½ an hour to get there.

I entered.

The bartender, Bruce, greeted me.

I gave him my brief case.

He put it under the bar.

I sat down at my favorite table.

In about a short wile the waitress, Bruce's daughter, brought out a steak for me.

She sat down.

We talked wile I ate.

I asked her how college was going.

I asked he how much I owed her for the steak.

She smiled at me.

She said that I knew it was on the house.

She is one of my "good deeds" .

A few months ago, her boyfriend took advantage of her.

I roughed him up a bit.

I broke his arm in three places.

I told him if he ever tried anything like that again, I would break more than his arm.

And so, I was welcome in the tavern.

And I ate free.

But I still paid.

I didn't need a free meal.

That's when all hell broke loose.

8 police officers.

Full SWAT gear.

5 through the front door.

3 through the back.

They yelled my name.

Told me to put my hands up.

Cuffed me.

Read me my rights.

And took me in.


	2. Saturday?

I close my eyes and they turn the lights on.

I open my eyes and they turn the lights off.

There own form of torment.

I can't be sure.

I think it might be Saturday.

They won't let me sleep.

I lay here in this padded cell.

In a strait jacket and pinstripe pants.

I wonder how they caught me.

It dosn't matter.

I'll be out Monday mourning.

Whatever.

Last night, if it is Saturday.

Last night is a blur.

I remember the tavern.

I remember the police.

I remember the girl.

I remember arriving at the police station.

I don't remember how I got there.

I remember the police telling me I am a murderer.

I remember them saying I was going to jail for a long time.

I laughed at them.

He punched me in the face.

I laughed again.

I laughed as the blood drained out my nose and stained my shirt.

I laughed until I started coughing up blood.

I remember being thrown into a small holding cell.

I remember the three other men in that cell.

I remember the battle for supremacy that followed.

I remember the men on the floor unconciss.

I remember the guard coming in.

I remember biting his arm.

I remember them forcing me into a straitjacket.

I remember being dragged into that empty room.

I remember the beating.

I remember those three guards.

I remember the billy clubs.

I remember being knocked down.

I remember kicking and stomping on my chest.

I remember the popping.

I remember the snapping.

I remember my ribs breaking.

I remember the pain.

I remember being dragged to this padded cell.

I remember the plastic floor.

And I lay there.

All night.

I think.

That's when they started with the lights.

Someone will be in soon.

Do there job.

Interrogation.

Whatever.

He came in.

Took me to a new room.

A room with a little table.

A room with two small chairs.

A little room with no guards.

He told me to sit down.

He had a little tape recorder.

He didn't turn it on.

He said he was an assistant district attorney.

Or whatever.

He says a few things.

He says no matter what im going to jail for a long time.

He says I'm a mass murderer.

He tells me about the people.

He shows me some pictures.

He tells me the stories.

Of the people I have killed.

I tell him I know what he's looking for.

I tell him he won't get a confession out of me.

He says he doesn't need one.

I tell him he dose.

He asked why.

I tell him that if he doesn't get one I'll be free on Monday.

He said no jury would free me.

I tell him that I'll never see a jury.

He asks why.

I tell him that I'll never go to court.

I tell him is boss will congratulate him.

I tell him he might even get a medal.

I tell him Monday mourning his boss will tell him to let me go.

He laughs and tells the guards to come in.

I tell him that I'll be gone Monday morning.

He has me put on suicide watch.

The guards take me back to the padded cell.

I close my eyes and they turn the lights on.

I open my eves and the turn the lights off.


	3. Sunday?

I close my eyes and they turn the lights on.

I open my eyes and they turn the lights off.

Jerks.

It had been another day, I think.

So, it might be Sunday.

Only one more day, if I'm right.

They put me in a new cell.

No padded walls.

Ditched the straitjacket.

But they kept up with the lights.

Hurts to move.

Bruises everywhere.

I open my eyes and they leave the light on.

I get my first real surprise.

A visitor.

A girl.

The girl.

That girl.

That one from Friday.

That one from the ally.

She looked at me and gasped.

She asked the guard what happened.

He claimed I fell down some stairs.

Wile being taken from one cell to another.

She said this pace is one story.

The guard left.

She asked me what happened.

I told her I fell down some stairs.

She told me not to cover for them.

I told her I wasn't.

She told me she knew what happened.

She asked me what I was going to do.

I told her Karma.

I told her it would work itself out.

I told her they would get what's coming to them.

She was doubtful.

She said she was sorry.

For what, I asked.

For telling the police, she said.

Her leader made her tell, she said.

He's a jerk, she said.

I asked who she was.

She told me.

She was a titan.

Damn it.

I should have known.

She told me.

My jacket had a phone number in it.

The number was for the phone at my apartment.

The apartment with the guns.

The apartment with the suites.

The apartment with the money.

The apartment with the information on all of the jobs I had done.

The apartment with the picture of my grandfather and I.

The apartment under the name E. A. Poe.

The apartment that screwed me over.

Damn it.

She told me, they wouldn't let her see me, yesterday.

She told me, thank you.

She told me, I would be in jail for a long time.

I told her I would be out Monday.

She told me they had a lot of evidence.

I told her, when I get out, im going to stop killing people.

She told me, they might give me the chair.

I told her i'll see her on Monday.

That's when I passed out.


	4. First day of the rest of your life

Disclaimer: I don't own the Teen Titans

Monday mourning, the guard came to my cell. Just as I knew he would. He tells me that they have to let me go. I'm out. I'm free. I saw that coming to. They gave me my possessions back, wich came to about 64 cents in small change. I didn't ask were the rest of my money was. They had a "doctor" look me over. He said I was fine, and physically fit for release. I'm not. At lest im out of here.

I was just out of jail, enough cash for a phone call. Only two places I could call now. First one is my last resort, my plan Z, my hopefully never gonna happen phone call. So I dialed the other number, Bruce, at the tavern.

"Hello, this is Jessica Speaking, how can I help you?"

"Hey kid, its me, is Bruce there?"

"Oh my god, Murdok is that really you? What happened? Are you hurt? Are you in jail?"

"I'll tell you later, just go and get your father."

She set down the phone, and ran off to get her father, in a few seconds I could hear his heavy foot steps.

"Murdok Is that you, Were are you?"

"Relax Bruce, I need you to pick me up, Im at the corner of 53rd and West Addison."

"Ok, I'll be there in a jiff."

CLICK

QQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQ

He arrived 5 min later. Driving a blue Chevrolet Cobalt. I practically fell into the passenger seat.

" What the hell happened, we were worried sick...you look like shit."

"I'll fill you in after I get some rest, you wouldn't happen to have an extra bed would you?"

"I have an extra couch on the second floor."

"The second floor?"

"Yah, I own the first and second floor of the building, my daughter and I live on the second floor, and the tavern is on the first."

"Oh..." I said before falling asleep in the front seat.

QQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQ

Bruce woke me up when we reached the Tavern. He said he was going to carry me up to the second floor, but I told him, "If you value your dignity, you'll let me walk myself." He let me walk.

As soon as stepped inside, Jessica almost jumped on me. She dropped the tray of beer and other beverages on a vacated table. She asked me too many questions, too quickly. She gave me a slight head ach. I told her I needed to sleep. I told her I would talk later. I told her I would be fine. I told her, thanks for caring.

I walked/dragged myself up the stairs. At the top there was a small room. A TV, coffee table, lounge chair, and couch were present. I headed to the couch and collapsed onto it. I was asleep when my head hit the pillow. Then came a loud clank of something being dropped. I opened one eye and saw Bruce, and a large metal case. My gun, the one in left here. He told me that the police either didn't see it or didn't think it was mine. I said thank you and rolled over, embracing the warm and comfortable couch.

QQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQQ

I was woken up again to a new sound. The sound of a fighting. A common sound at the tavern. But this was different, it wasn't just the sound of blows being exchanged, but explosions, chanting, and strange animal sounds. I figured this was it; it had finally got to me. I was going insane. It took longer than I thought. I could still here the sounds. I forced my body to get up and investigate.

I found a window the sounds seemed to be coming from. I gazed out, and found the source of the noise. Go figure. The time I need allot of sleep, The Teen fuckin Titans decide to have a big fight outside my window. Damn it. I recognized the titans, but I couldn't place the guy they were fighting. Big guy. Big tech suit. His human head poking up through the top. Something about a map, or Greek mythology or somthing like that. Whatever. He seemed to be doing quite a number on the titans. The leader Bird man, whatever, was out cold on the pavement. Next to him was the flying chick, the one that shoots green crap. The little green boy was likewise out cold on a car hood. The African American robot hybrid was down for the count, with his arms ripped off. The last girl, with the violet hair, the big guy had her in a choke hold. By the look of it, she didn't have much longer. What a jerk, he doesn't know how to treat a lady. Some one should teach him some manners. None of the titans were in any condition to do it. The police couldn't do it. And there sure as hell weren't any civilians ready to jump in. I guess that leaves me. Damn it. I moved back over to the couch. I opened the case on the coffee table and took the rifle out. I carried the heavy gun over to the open window. The girls pale skinned face was starting to turn blue. I pulled the butt of the gun deep into the pocket of my shoulder. I lined up the sights with the robot suits head area. I couldn't get a good shot. The sights kept moving on me. I didn't have the energy to hold the heavy rifle still. I couldn't take a shoot like that. I might hit the girl. I set the rifle down. There was one last thing I could do. Kids, don't try this at home. I jumped out the window. I landed on the Robot/man's shoulder. It didn't seem to hurt him, but it suppressed the hell out of him. It suppressed him enough to drop the girl. Now his focus was on me. He tried grabbing at me, but I grabbed his head and neck in a sort of head lock. Using a move made famous by pro wrestlers.

The 'sleeper hold' does not really put someone to sleep. It is ment to cut off the oxygenyn to the brain. It makes the victim pass out. The robot/guy was taking awhile to pass out, and he was putting up a good fight. I was on his back, were he couldn't reach me, but that didn't mean he couldn't slam me into things, like cars, see also lamp posts, see also brick walls. My overly existed body was wearing down quickly. But I still kept my death grip on his neck. Luckily, he blacked out before I did. Unluckily, he fell backwards onto me. My last thoughts before blacking out were, "That's gonna hurt in the mourning."

Heroic isn't the right word, but it's the first to come to mind.


End file.
